Money Makes The World Go Around
by ErurainiaLai
Summary: Wise men say that money isn't everything. That money won't buy you the world and certainly money doesn't buy happiness. But what do they know? Sat up in there ivory towers, while the poor starve and the ill die. Money might not buy you happiness but it gives you a damn good chance of staying alive.


_(Sorry for not updating any of my other stories. Sorry for starting a new one, but I promise you this ones going to be good. It's going to be the one, okay! Enjoy. ~Eru)_

Bad Luck Comes In Threes

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Wise men say that money isn't everything. That money won't buy you the world and certainly money doesn't buy happiness. But what do they know? Sat up in there ivory towers, while the poor starve and the ill die. Money might not buy you happiness but it gives you a damn good chance of staying alive. That was Dean's philosophy at least and It had kept him getting up in the morning, after all who else was going to get up and earn his daily dollar if not for him.

Every day it was the same. Get up, go to work, visit Sammy, and take the night shift. Come home, let his stomach growl. Stare at the fridge, open it, close it. Decide he had eaten plenty earlier and set alarm for three hours late. Sleep. Same thing every day. Hell it wasn't like he could complain, he had a roof over his head and that was more than he could say for most people.

It was just sometimes he wished for something different. What if he bought ham instead of cheese? What if he had finished high school and not dropped out? What if he had gone left instead of right at the intersection that night as the rain pour and Sammy sat laughing in seat next to him. A lot of things he could have done differently. Things he could have changed, stopped, if only he'd been different.

But as it was, there was nothing he could change and as the alarm clock blared he rubbed his eyes, cursing the sun that was creeping in his blinds. Rolling over he clapped his hand over the buzzer and practically crawled out of bed. He grabbed all he needed from his dresser before heading for the bathroom. Maybe he could just wash the tiredness away? Not that it had before, but it was worth a shot right?

Wrong. Not only did it not cure his tired eyes, the heater wasn't working again. Just what he loved. A cold freaking shower on a cold freaking day. Sighing he climbed out, (after all there was no point in wasting water,) and he changed into his work clothes for the day.

He didn't have a big an important job. Hell you could tell that from his dingy little apartment and if he did, it wasn't like he'd waste his time with two jobs. He worked at a mechanics, though even then it wasn't the good part of the shop. Apparently you need to have a freaking degree to work on cars. Even if you know everything about them under the sun, you don't have a piece of paper that says that, it means nothing. So he was the receptionist. Beggars can't be choosers.

Stepping out of the door and straight into a puddle he cursed loudly. He could already tell today wasn't going to be his day, though then again, when was it ever? He couldn't help but smile slightly as he walked down the stairs and patted the bonnet of his car. Good old baby. Come rich, come poor he could never get rid of her. Hell he'd sooner sell his home than his car, even if she only did 25 miles to the gallon.

As he slid in he ran his hands over the dash, before he slipped then key in and drove to work. When the engine roared and he took off, Dean heard the radio flick on. Quickly he grabbed one of the tapes from, an old shoe box in the passengers foot well and crammed it in the player, grinning at the rock classic that began pouring out of it. You see, Dean hated the radio. It was just full of stories of rich people getting richer by the day and as recently those people were the Novak's, rising billionaires. Freaking rich people. He bet they never knew a day of real work in their lives.

Dean shook his head as he parked up at work and walked in, muttering something no one could really understand, even if they were listening carefully. He didn't hate his job as much as he thought he would when he had first been hired. The work wasn't hard and the people they were… Okay he guessed. There were Benny and Rufus, the guys who actually fixed up the cars. He never really talked to Rufus much, the guy kinda kept to himself, but Benny was awesome. The only real guy that understood where he was at. They'd often sit and chat during their lunch breaks or whenever Benny didn't have a car it. That was as long as they could avoid Crowley, their boss. The man was a slave driver.

Then there was Becky, his co-work, who wasn't that bad… Though at this particular time, four hours into his shift, she was getting on his last nerve.

"So Dean, which one do you think is prettier? Michael or Castiel? Or what about Luke? Though I'm pretty sure Michael and Luke are having a secrete affair you know? You can just tell by the way they look into each other's eyes..."

Becky sighed dreamily as Dean gritted his teeth. Three more hours and he would get to see Sammy. The highlight of his day.

"I don't freaking care. Every single Novak can die in an explosion for I care!"

It was then Crowley decided to rear his ugly face and unfortunately for Dean, it was staring directly at him. He watched grimly as the suit approached his desk, taking a deep breath. There was only one reason Crowley ever paid attention to his employee's. When they were in trouble, and by the look on the man's face, Dean was deep in it. Though it wasn't the frown he was worried about, it was the smile blooming across his lips.

"Dean, it seems there has been a change of plans involving your employment. That is too say, you are no longer needed. Pack up, go home Winchester."

And as quick as he came, he left, leaving Dean shocked, confused and downright angry. What the hell had he even done to be fired? It wasn't like he was late every day like Benny, or he turned up smelling like a freaking brewery like Rufus. Hell if anyone should have got the sack it should have been Becky! All she does is talk all the time and use the company computers for writing her weird ass stories.

Packing up his things he ignored Becky and her annoying apologies and her 'don't worry, you'll get a new job soon.' Like it was that easy in this world. He knew that puddle wouldn't have been the end of his bad luck that day. Well at least he could see Sam a few hours earlier. It was something at least.

Leaving that hell hole behind, he drove down Main Street, keeping his music off this time, and clenching his hands at the wheel. It was okay he'd make it work. He always did after all. As he pulled in front of the building, he looked up at it and took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair.

He climbed out, jogged up the stairs and walked the familiar halls to Sam's room. It wasn't long before he found it, number 206 and he waltzed in, throwing his stuff by the plastic chair with a plastered on smile.

"Hey Sammy! How you feeling today man?"

He sat down in the chair as the pale figure in the bed peeled open his eyes and smiled a little. He made an attempt to shuffle up into a sitting position, though he didn't make it very far before he just gave up and used the electronic bed dial to force him upright.

"I'm okay, just a little tired you know?"

"Too much flirting with that hot nurse of yours?"

"Shut up Dean! Jess is just doing her job and I'm being nice and… Just shut up Jerk."

"Bitch."

Dean couldn't help but smile at that. At least he was well enough to joke with him now. He'd been asleep every time he had visited last week. With all the tests the doctors were running, his brother had been more than worn out, though it seemed even though he had spent nearly two months in coma he was always tired. Not that Dean could care less, his brother was finally out of the woods.

After that the two just talked about anything and everything. Sam mostly about daytime Tv and Jess, and Dean anything but the fact he had been fired today. It was about an hour and a half into his visit when Sammy's doctor poked his head around the door.

"Dean? May I have a word with you?"

He just nodded and told his brother he'd be back in a minute and not to fall asleep on him as he followed the doctor back out of the room. Since Dean was his legal guardian and it was still three more months until Sam was eighteen, it fell on him to listen to whatever the doctors had to say. Though he had to admit he was glad that the only thing he would hear from him now was how quick he could bring his little brother home.

"So, What's up doc?"

"Well, as you know last week we were running some tests, to check your brothers brain activity since he woke up from his accident and we have come across a cranial tumour. Luckily it isn't malignant."

He could practically feel his face drop and hear his heart shatter. What the hell did that mean? Sammy was meant to be better now. He was supposed to bring him home soon and they'd laugh. This had to be a fucking joke.

"Now as serious as it sounds, it is operable. We would have to do a biopsy and then see what we can do. If all goes well, your brother with need chemo therapy. Dean it's going to cost around $600,000."

"And if I can't afford that?"

"If left, they can start to cause pressure on the brain and cause other sorts of damage and ultimately, your brother will die. I'm sorry Dean. We can give you a week, but after that we will have to move him to the hospice."

And he though this day couldn't get any worse.

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_(Worth continuing do you think? Tell me in a review)_


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